At Home
by Becky215
Summary: A series of loosely-related vignettes examining Maria and Georg's new life in America.
1. At Home

_Disclaimer: I own none of the characters in this work of fiction and receive no profits from this story. _

**At Home**

The smoky sky was littered with scarlet leaves as the wind stirred the trees. The breeze was cool, reminding the world that winter would soon arrive, but the smell of autumn was still thick in the air. Maria gazed out the window with a contented smile as she admired the landscape. Mountains proudly guarded the Von Trapp's small estate, and Maria marveled that she could barely count the myriad shades of red, orange, and gold.

The distant rustle of the newspaper interrupted the quiet cadence of the afternoon breeze. Maria turned to find her husband immersed in the day's events, his legs stretched out before him as he folded the corner of the page with his finger. Pictures from battle filled the front page, and a soft sigh escaped Georg's lips as he turned the page once again.

It was difficult to read about the war in Europe. They'd escaped Austria with their wits and the clothes on their backs, and Maria knew that they'd left without a moment to spare. The newspapers and radio programs were filled with stories about strife, turmoil, and terror abroad. It was strange to hear once-familiar places discussed in foreign accents. The American journalists often stumbled on the names of German cities, leaning too heavily on the consonants and forgetting certain syllables altogether.

An ocean separated them from their former homeland, but the losses in Europe were felt acutely in the von Trapp household. Maria remembered the day Hitler took Paris with a shudder. The reporter on the radio had spoken too quickly for her to keep up with the story. She became lost, catching only token phrases and fragments of sentences as she frantically tried to translate the words pouring over the airwaves.

She learned the full story from the newspaper. Taking her time, she followed the words in print with her finger and felt tears prick her eyes as the truth came to light. The front page photo revealed the Nazi flag hanging proudly from the Arc de Triomphe. The reports claimed that hundreds of people had fled the city before the German soldiers' arrival, but hundreds more were arrested or sequestered in the days that followed. The details reminded her of the night they fled Austria, of the horns, whistles, gunshots, and threats that filled the endless night. Sitting at her kitchen table on the other side of the world, she wept for Paris on that beautiful summer morning, bruising her cheeks with smudged newsprint as she wiped away her tears.

Months had passed since that horrible day in June. The stories from home broke her heart with each passing day, but she was slowly adjusting to life beneath a different mountain and pleased to realize that Vermont agreed with her. She'd never imagined that she could love America when the family fist stepped off the steamship in New York harbor. She could taste the grit and dust of the busy streets on her tongue, and the noisy crowds surprised her as she tried to get her bearings in a new world. The sounds were also a startling surprise. She'd been practicing English for several weeks with Georg and children, but she remembered the horror and dismay of her first conversation with an American. The clerk at the immigration counter had asked for her visa three distinct times before she finally pulled it from her pocket and placed it on the table.

Through all the change and turmoil, she wore a smile for the children. She laughed and sang and touched their cheeks when she saw they were frightened, but she only hoped that they could not see their own fears and uncertainties mirrored in her eyes. She'd never forget their wide stares as they walked down the streets of New York City, bound for a small hotel on the edge of Manhattan with only a small collection of bags and trunks they'd acquired in Switzerland. They stayed in the city for a week while Georg discussed his accounts with the local offices of a few international banks, but Maria kept to their small suite of rooms and entertained the children as noises clanged, crashed, and shrieked beyond their windows.

She only cried once. On their first night in New York, Georg kissed her cheek and suggested that she take a hot bath while he tended to the children. She did not need a second invitation and closed herself in the small washroom. She started the tap and sat on the rim of the bathtub, rolling up her skirt to unpin her garters, but that was the moment when the world caught up with her. The momentum of the past few weeks crashed into her with cruel force, and she was grateful that the water churning from the faucet masked the sound of her first breathless sob.

Alone in the bathroom, she shed her tears and let her fears breathe in the open air. She'd been brave for the children, and she trusted her husband in his decision to bring them to this alien country. She knew in her heart that it was the right decision, but that certainty did not change the fact that the life she'd known was gone forever. She remembered her mountain and the rickety rowboat looped to the dock in Aigen. She remembered the sisters at Nonnberg Abbey and the cheerful man at the bakery who always tucked extra slices of strudel into her basket when she visited with the children. She mourned the people she would never see again and felt her heart break for the Austria she loved.

That was her only moment of weakness. When her tears were gone, she collected herself and took her bath, and she emerged with a smile. The children were already asleep when she returned to the cramped salon, and she gratefully stepped into her husband's warm embrace as he slipped his hands under her robe and welcomed her to America with a tender kiss.

They left the city within the week. Georg had made wise investments before leaving Austria, but much of his money remained in his accounts abroad. With limited means, he decided to take his family away from the city and into the country, certain that the familiar sights of mountains, lakes, and nature would make everyone feel more at home. He bought a car on a Saturday before purchasing the Vermont cottage on a Monday, and the family was bound for the north before lunchtime on Tuesday.

Georg's estimations had been correct, for he'd been delighted to see the brightness return to Maria's eyes as they drove through New England. She touched his arm as the car curled around the mountains, and the cheerful sound of her voice was music to his ears as she pointed out the various sights to the children.

He struggled for weeks in trying to define the new house. It was not small, but it was hardly large. It was not elegant, but it was far from simple. Maria finally solved the problem for him and concluded that their home was "charming." Perched on a handful of sprawling acres, it boasted four bedrooms, two bathrooms, and a kitchen the size of a broom closet. The former owner had explained that it was an old colonial, but the meaning of that term was lost on Georg. He wanted something more, but he knew that he'd have to settle for a little bit less. Maria did not see the flaws that had caught his attention. She'd gasped in delight as they walked through the empty house, and her happiness was evident in her smile as she inspected each room of the old cottage in the mountains.

The sudden sound of wrinkled paper pulled Maria away from her thoughts. She saw that Georg had finished with the newspaper. The pages were clenched in his hand, and she recognized the sadness in his eyes.

"Bad news today?"

"Every day. It's a wonder that I don't learn my lesson and stop reading the damned thing altogether."

"Because you care," she said, brushing her fingers through his hair before touching her lips to the stitch in his brow. "And please don't swear."

"I detest this feeling of powerlessness. Caring is all I can do, and it's hardly enough."

"So you wish we'd stayed in Austria?" She asked the question, already certain of the answer. They'd had this exchange too many times to count, for Georg wrestled with his choices on a regular basis. Maria knew how easily he could lose himself in a sea of questions, so she was always quick to keep his doubts tucked away in the shadows.

"Of course not," he sighed. He was silent for a moment, adrift in his thoughts, but finally he made peace with the present and looked up at his wife. "What are your plans for the day?"

"I need to finish the children's laundry and start dinner at some point," she said, enjoying the way his hand fell over her hip.

"A menu of chores for a baroness."

"It seems that I'm revolutionizing what it means to be baroness. Gone are the days of French manicures and three o'clock cocktails. Today the most stylish baroness is the one who wears a shirtwaist while ironing her eight year old's jumpers."

"Is that the consensus in the society columns?" he mused, answering her sarcasm with a raised brow.

"Unanimously."

He chuckled and rose to his feet, but slowly he walked to the double doors that opened to the porch. He breathed in the mountain air, but he finally he turned to her with a question. "You don't mind it here, do you?"

"Mind?"

He shrugged shyly, leaning back against the doors as the breeze brushed over his cheek. "Our lives are dramatically different. I only wonder if you mind…"

"Doing chores and making dinner for my family?" she asked, taking the words from his mouth with a satisfied smile. "As always, Georg, you forget that I grew up in a one-room cabin on the side of a mountain. I know how to cook, and I don't mind doing my share of the work for this family." She knew what he wanted to say next, so she caught his hands to stop the sentence. "I have no need for parties, elegant ball gowns, or champagne. The crowds make me nervous, the gowns make me trip, and champagne makes me dizzy."

"I'm rather fond of you when you're dizzy," he teased, kissing her brow and enjoying her smile, but she was not ready to let him slip away from this moment of candor.

"I'm being sincere, darling. I only need you and the children. Everything else is delightful detail."

"Even the unsatisfactory mountains of Vermont? Are they a 'delightful detail'?"

He often teased her about the Appalachians. He enjoyed the fire in her tone when she argued that these new mountains were no competition for the elegant Alps of Austria, but today she did not rise to his bait. Instead she looked beyond the windows, smiling softly as though seeing it all for the first time. The gauzy clouds parted around the vaulting mountain peaks, each stippled in the fiery colors of autumn. These mountains were different than the rocky steeples of the Alps, but she recognized that they were beautiful in their own special way. She admired them for a moment before turning back to the endless sea of her husband's eyes. "They'll do," she said. "And so will you."

"Good." He caught her hands and held them out to her sides, admiring her figure and the raspberry cotton sundress that barely touched her knees. "And if this is what the baronesses are wearing today, I must say that I'm impressed."

"The baronesses of the world may not share my sense in fashion. I can only imagine Elsa Schrader wearing a cotton housedress ironed by her very own hand," Maria grinned, earning her husband's laughter.

"Then you're better than I am, for I can't even begin to imagine that."

Maria laughed, but the distant sound of church bells suddenly filled the air and took hold of Maria's heart. She listened for a moment, savoring the tune that was hauntingly familiar in its peacefulness. If she closed her eyes, she could imagine that she was on her mountain once again, feeling the breath of God against her cheek as warm sunlight spilled through the clouds. She knew that she would never again stand atop that mountain, and the thought was suddenly devastating.

"The children will be home soon," Georg said. He'd seen the flicker of sadness in her eyes. He understood it, for he often felt the same agonies of ache and regret, but he knew that there was nothing he could do to heal this particular wound.

Maria managed a smile, but she met his gaze and spoke from the heart. "I don't regret any of this," she said, her voice soft and certain. "I miss so many things from Austria. We all do. But I don't regret a single decision we've made, and I'm glad that I'm here."

Her words were simple but pure, and he welcomed her into his arms without a word. The weight of his love was overwhelming, and she lingered the warmth and strength of his embrace. Finally she pressed a kiss to his neck before stepping back with a grateful sigh.

"I'm glad _you're_ here, too. You can help me with the laundry," she said. Her tone was determined, and she chuckled at his feigned protestations as she captured his hand. His arm curled around her waist as they crossed the yard to the low-slung clothesline. Her laughter harmonized with the breeze and the distant chorus of the doves, but it was no surprise that the sound should seem so perfect on that particular afternoon. Maria was at home with the man she loved, and her laughter belonged to the mountains.

_A/N: My last exam is tomorrow, so I needed to take a small study break and get this saccharine little bon-bon off my chest. I've been tossing around ideas for one-shots for a long time, and I think I'll just drop them all in here as "chapters" of a loose series (rather than post them all individually), so stay tuned for that. More "Whither Thou Goest" is on the way, too, now that summer is here and school is (soon to be) over! Thanks for reading! -C._


	2. The First Anniversary

_Disclaimer: I own none of the characters in this work of fiction and receive no profits from this story. _

Maria pulled the hot casserole dish out of the oven, but Liesl was already hovering over her shoulder with a disapproving look.

"I said I could take care of dinner, Mother. Really, you should go."

"I don't mind," Maria replied, blowing at the steam before placing the dish on the table. The children had already gathered with eager smiles, ready for their meal after a busy afternoon of playing in the yard with some of the neighborhood children.

"Where are you and Father going tonight, Mother?"

"I don't know, Brigitta. Your father says that it 's a surprise."

"Last time there was a surprise he took you to Paris," Liesl said, her eyes bright with romance.

"No, last time there was a surprise he took us to America," Kurt scoffed, picking a bit of cheese off the top of the casserole when no one was looking. Maria smirked at his tart humor but batted his hand away before he could steal a second nibble of their dinner.

"I think he'll take you dancing," Liesl concluded.

"That's not exciting at all," Louisa groaned. "Not for their first anniversary."

"Where would you want to go?"

The question puzzled the stubborn girl, but finally Louisa replied, "Boston."

"Boston?"

"Everyone at school talks about it. They say it's great fun and not nearly as busy as New York."

"I liked New York," Friedrich said, reaching for a plate. "I think it would be exciting to live there."

"I didn't like New York," Marta pouted.

"I didn't, either," Maria said conspiratorially, smiling at her daughter before asking Kurt to fetch the milk.

"Maybe he'll take you out on the lake," Brigitta mused, cupping her cheek in her hand.

"Maybe he'll take Mother out of the house before any of his children ruin the surprise by guessing where he's really taking her!"

The sudden sound of Georg's voice startled the children, but they laughed good-naturedly and passed their plates around the table.

"You're not going to New York, are you, Father?"

"A lesson for when you become a married man, Friedrich: never take your wife to a place that she hates on her anniversary."

"I don't hate New York, Georg. It simply wasn't for me."

"Well, good, because that's not where we're going."

"Where _are_ you going?" Brigitta implored.

"That's the secret," Georg winked, curling his arm around Maria's waist. "Liesl, you'll lock the door behind us?"

"Of course, Father."

"Are we forgetting anything?" Georg asked absently, touching his pocket to ensure that he had his keys. Content that he was prepared, he led Maria to the door but stopped with a slight snap of his fingers. "Ah, yes. Before I forget. Children, bedtime is to be strictly observed in this household."

The children nodded obediently, for the meaning in Georg's words was lost on them, but Maria smiled so brightly that she wondered if the stars would fall from the sky in surrender. She squeezed her husband's hand before stepping out into the night with him, and she breathed in the cool mountain air as she followed him towards the family sedan.

"Now will you please tell me where we're going?"

"I will not," he said, closing the door before sliding onto the seat beside her. "It's a surprise, and you only get to enjoy one first anniversary."

"Perhaps my next husband will tell me his secrets," she said, curling her arm through his as he started the motor. The engine rasped to life, coughing and spitting before finding its tempo.

"Then your next husband will lack imagination and you shall spend your entire evening with him trying to summon the ghost of your beloved _first_ husband." He winked at the sight of her smile and continued, "If you're well-behaved, I might appear and kiss you on the cheek."

"A gift I'd treasure forever," she grinned.

They traveled in silence for several minutes. The long driveway curled away from their cottage like a mischievous child, hooking its way around the trees with foolish abandon and little patience for predictability. Maria looked up and watched as the stars cut through the canopy of trees overhead. The mountain air was clean and cool, an open canvas for the sugared fragrance of new blossoms that would soon perfume the air in springtime.

Georg's arm slipped around her shoulders, gathering her closer as they traveled down the winding road, and she felt the thrum of his voice against her temple as he hummed some nameless song.

"Where were we a year ago?"

"Right now?"

"Yes."

"On the train to Paris," he said, pressing a kiss to her brow. "You were standing barefoot on the carpet of our suite, and you were blushing while I struggled with the thirty-six satin buttons on your gown."

"I was not!"

"You were, darling," he said gently, cradling the memory like a newborn child. "And you were lovely."

Maria blushed again, almost for the sake of tradition, but she knew that he was right. They'd boarded the train with laughter at their heels and waved farewell to their friends and children from the entrance to the train. Liesl had pinned the train of Maria's wedding gown so the bride would not trip, but the girl's handiwork loosened as they mounted the narrow steps to the train car. Georg held her skirts as they waved farewell to the faces in the station, and when the voices were consumed by steam engines and whistles, his breath tickled her ear as he suggested they step inside.

"I was nervous that night," she remembered.

"I know. So was I," he said. She smiled, knowing that he was telling the truth. "You were quiet as mouse when you turned your back and pointed to those buttons. I barely knew what to say to you."

"You said that you loved me," she murmured. "I remember that part."

"And then I cursed the seamstress who'd conspired to ruin my wedding night with thirty-six buttons, each no larger than the head of a pin."

She smirked at his ill humor, for she could see that he was smiling. She remembered holding her breath as his fingers went to work on the bodice of her gown. The first warm burst of his breath against her bare shoulder had startled her, and his hands fell to her waist in a silent apology as he gave her a moment to collect herself.

"It was a beautiful gown," Maria said fondly.

"On a remarkably beautiful woman."

"We arrived in Paris at seven o'clock, didn't we?"

"I barely remember. I only know that the sun was far too bright and you were far too distracting when we woke up in the station the next morning."

"Georg," she sighed, feigning embarrassment but laughing at the memory. She looked out at the empty road stretching before them. A few cars passed by in the other lane of traffic. The sun was just disappearing behind the hills, but most of the other cars had already turned on their headlamps. "A year ago we were bound for Paris, and now we're on our way to your mystery location in America."

"What would you have said, if I'd whispered in your ear last year that you'd spend your first anniversary in Vermont?"

"I would have said, 'Darling, where on earth is Vermont?'"

He chuckled at her reply. "What if I'd taken you to Missouri? Or Tennessee?"

"Or Mississippi?" Maria grinned, stumbling on the letters and laughing at her own failures. "Any of those places I can never manage to pronounce."

"You're getting better, though. I heard you saying the names with the children the other night."

"The little ones are learning the capitals of each state for a project in school." She leaned closer to him and breathed in his scent, feeling the wind rush through her hair as they traveled down the highway. "Do you know the capital of California?"

"I haven't the faintest idea, darling."

"Sacramento." She winced at the sound of her own pronunciation. "Americans must hate to hear us talk about their country."

"Ah, but it goes in both directions. A man in the market asked where I lived before we came here. I told him that the town was called Salzburg, and his eyes grew very wide as he repeated what I'd said: "Salts-b_err_g." Georg embellished each syllable for emphasis and delighted in his wife's laughter. She was distracted with her happiness when he pulled away from the highway, and she looked out the window in wonder as they curled through the tight streets of Montpelier.

"Oh, Georg, where are we going?"

"Around the block, darling." He spoke casually, but he was watching her from the corner of his eye, enjoying her delight. The lights of the marquee flooded the street as they approached the small theater. It was a modest theater, boasting only a few dozen seats, but it was the closest one he could find without traveling down to the coast in Boston. He watched the golden lights wash over his bride, and he wished that he had a snapshot of her in this very moment, gilded in light and perfectly beautiful in her happiness. Her hand clasped over his as she asked whether they were, in fact, going to the cinema.

"Last year you said that you'd never seen a picture," he said, parking the car and looking up at the lights. "I've only been once or twice in Vienna, but I knew that it was something I wanted to share with you."

"One of Liesl's friends—Allison-she goes to the theater all the time," Maria said. "She brings over magazines filled with movie stars, and the girls thumb through them and argue over who they will marry."

Georg crooked his brow in amusement. "Do you also join them in this exercise, Fraulein?"

"No," she blushed. "I'm not interested in those men. You're far more dashing than any of them put together."

"A lovely thing for a wife to say to her husband on their first anniversary." He touched her cheek with the ball of his thumb and reveled in the way she leaned into his touch. She trusted him, and she loved him. They sat like that for a moment, bathed in gold and content with their company. She touched the ring on his finger and remembered the cold kiss of gold against her bare skin as he toiled with each of those thirty-six buttons.

She sighed contentedly, but something in her silence made him wonder. "What are you thinking?"

"I'm remembering the day you came back from Vienna, when I climbed out of the lake and yelled at you like a mad woman. I'm wondering what you would have done if I'd leaned closer to you, with my poor brown dress dripping on your shoes, and said that we'd be married within a year."

He squeezed her hand and smiled. "I would have taken a moment to collect myself, but then I would have kissed you."

"You're lying," she answered knowingly. "You were ready to send me back to the Abbey. I think you would have ordered Franz to carry me back to Nonnberg if it would have gotten me there faster."

He chuckled at that, but he did not let go of her hand. "Perhaps. But if I'd been patient enough to really look at the beautiful gift standing in front of me in her dripping wet dress that the poor didn't want, things might have been different."

"How so?"

"If you'd leaned closer to say those words to me, I would have pulled you into my arms and refused to let you go." A fire smoldered in his eyes as he met her gaze. "And I wouldn't have waited a year to make you my wife."

She remembers the rumble of the train beneath her feet, the silken brush of his lips against the arc of her shoulder. She remembers cake and champagne and the way their breaths danced in front of their lips as they murmured their vows in the cold, cavernous cathedral.

Like many brides, she remembers only snippets and glances of her wedding. Her only perfect memory of that exciting, lovely day is the feeling that filled her as she walked down the aisle. She'd followed each of Liesl's footsteps in perfect cadence, but she lost her focus halfway to the altar when she met Georg's gaze. He was smiling, his eyes filled with love, pride, and that peculiar breed of excitement that was entirely his own. In that moment, she wanted nothing more than to run to him, to close the space between them and fall into his arms so he could kiss and taste her tears of joy that threatened to fall at any moment. It was an indescribable sense of fullness, of completion, and she knew that she was happy.

"We should go before we miss our feature," he said, opening the car door and following her onto the sidewalk.

"Allison says that you can't see a picture without eating popcorn," Maria noted as they walked up to the ticket counter.

"Then my wife shall have popcorn," he replied. He plucked his wallet from his pocket and smiled at the girl behind the glass. "Two, please, for the eight o'clock show."

He pressed a ticket into her hand as they stepped onto the plush velvet carpets of the foyer. Georg handed her into an empty aisle of seats before purchasing a bag of popcorn from the vendor, and together they gazed up at the empty screen with quiet expectation. The theater was mostly empty, for it was the late showing on a Wednesday night, but Maria enjoyed the solitude. She leaned into her husband, savoring the warmth of his body while their fingers tangoed in the oil-stained paper bag cradled between them.

"You know, a year ago we were drinking a bottle of wine that cost as much as our car," Georg mused, wiping his fingers on his handkerchief. Maria raised her brows in amusement but took another handful of popcorn from the bag.

"And now we're two Americans at a picture show who know that the capital of Florida is Tallahassee," she grinned.

"I don't think that's how it's pronounced, darling."

"I think you should kiss me," she whispered. He smiled, delighted by her innocent seduction. The lights dimmed to announce the start of the feature, and she felt the soft brush of his lips against hers. He tasted like salt and butter, like the past and future and the spring-stained wind that whipped across on the highway. His teeth grazed her lip, but only for a moment, and she felt the breath of "I love you" against her skin before silver lights suddenly flooded the room. He smiled in the gauzy light, placing one more kiss on the apple of her cheek, but then they looked up at the screen as Cary Grant and Katharine Hepburn prepared to fall in love just for them. Georg didn't release her hand for the rest of the night, and Maria found that she still felt that indescribable sense of fullness when he touched her, when he looked at her, when he loved her. So many things had changed in a year, but she was humbled to realize that some things would always be the same.

_A/N: _Hope you enjoyed this little installment. I'm 2000 words into the new chapter of "Whither Thou Goest," so that's coming soon. Thanks for reading! -C.


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